aere perennius
by danywhelan
Summary: "... the matter remains, however." "what matter?" henry asked, though he knew precisely which matter he meant. victor looked up at the ceiling, just barely shaking his head. he hated sentimentality—at least coming out of his own mouth. "that i'll miss you."


"I'm leaving for Ingolstadt to-morrow."

Victor had been in Henry's room for the past several hours, though few words had been exchanged. That was the way it was with them. They could sit in a comfortable silence for hours on end, the only sound in the room the flipping of pages or the occasional chuckle and beckoning over to show the other something humorous in his book. That was much more common for Henry—Victor's dry texts very rarely held jokes and if they did, Henry found no amusement in them.

This was the first thing he had said since arriving earlier that evening, following a lengthy dinner with Victor's family at his home, as a sort of farewell party. It had been weighing in the air between the two for some time now, ever since Victor had announced his date of departure (and his furthered date of departure following his mother's death). Yet the two young men had yet to discuss it in depth with only each other. Perhaps because they both knew it would mean a temporary end to their intimacy.

Henry glanced up from his novel, though not at Victor; they were facing opposite directions, with him sitting upon his bed and Victor at the desk. Henry closed the book, taking note of the page number. With a quiet sigh he then faced Victor, who had turned in his chair.

"I know."

Victor eyed him for a moment, observing him. "Is that all?"

Henry moved to the edge of the bed, leaning against one of the posts as he gazed upon his friend. "That's all I wish to say."

"You could still come to study with me. Convince your father." Victor stood, coming to sit beside him. His book on some inconsequential subject was abandoned on the desk, likely to be left there forever, since he was leaving the next morning and often forgot things such as that halfway through.

Henry laughed lightly. "You know I've tried. But alas, unlikely. Merchants need no schooling in the liberal arts."

Victor reached out to place his hand on top of Henry's in his lap, then quickly withdrew it, making it as if he was simply laying it on his own knee. "But you would make a terrible merchant. You would fall off in some fancy, daydreaming in the meeting places, trying to make metaphors out of trade agreements."

Henry's eyes flickered from Victor's hand back to his face, pretending to take no notice of the act. He smiled genuinely. "And you know me too well. I would reference some literary figure and get blank stares in return. I'd be fired, surely."

Victor laughed, though his eyes seemed distant, as if his thoughts were somewhere else entirely. "Of course… The matter remains, however."

"What matter?" Henry asked, though he knew precisely which matter he meant.

Victor looked up at the ceiling, just barely shaking his head. He hated sentimentality—at least coming out of his own mouth. "That I'll miss you."

Henry smiled to himself, leaning away from the bedpost and more against Victor's shoulder, however gingerly. "I'll miss you as well." Before anything else could be said, he put his own novel to the side and leaned behind them. He reached under his pillow, pulling out a leatherbound book.

He placed it in Victor's lap, and he stopped staring at the ceiling, lost in his own thoughts, coming back to the presence of Henry. "What's this?"

"Shakespeare's _Sonnets_. For you."

Victor thumbed the spine of the book. "I suspect I'll hardly have time—" He was cut off by Henry's hand on top of his, making him catch his breath.

"It doesn't matter whether you read it, Victor. You need only place it in your room and every time you see it you'll think of me. Then you can't really miss me as much."

Victor shook his head and laughed wryly under his breath. He suspected he would either way, but nevertheless he opened the book.

Inside the cover was etched in Henry's large, cursive hand: _AERE PERENNIUS. _

Victor looked up at him curiously. "_Aere perennius_?"

Henry smiled softly and tapped the book with his finger. "Take care to learn some Latin while you're at the university and you'll then know what it says."

"I'll have no time for the languages such as you might enjoy."

Henry just stared at him for a moment with an amused grin upon his face, which made Victor look away hastily. Then he was reminded of Henry's warm hand upon his own and looked back up at him, his gaze moving quickly between his eyes and lips.

Henry reached for his face with his other hand, his thumb gently tracing Victor's jaw, his forefinger running across his lower lip. Just as Victor's eyes began to flutter shut he dropped his hand. Though he wanted to continue, he couldn't—Victor would be leaving the next morning. There was no use in starting something they could never finish.

Instead Henry looked at Victor fondly, leaning back against the bedpost once more. "You're the Apollo of the two of us."

Victor opened his eyes, one brow raised. There seemed to be a mutual understanding of the ceasing of touch, but that didn't make the feeling of longing any less.

He cleared his throat. "Apollo, as opposed to…?"

Henry was quite interested in the classics, as were many men Victor knew—or heard of—though he hardly understood the appeal. In any case, it was something about Henry he admired. Something to balance him, ground him.

"Hyacinthus. His lover, the beautiful Spartan youth."

"Then you're the beautiful youth? I would agree that I'm the god. I'm taller than you and three months older."

"Oh, is that Victor Frankenstein, quipping?" Henry playfully pressed a hand against Victor's shoulder.

"I would never banter when you're complimenting me, Henry."

They smiled at each other, taking some momentary solace, the evening a liminal space between their youth and the sought-after life Victor was about to grasp the following day.

Victor glanced sideways out the window, noting how dark it had gotten. He looked at Henry then down at his hands and the book of sonnets in his lap. "I… I should probably be on my way home now. I think I still have some things I should—" He waved a hand absentmindedly. "Pack. Some things I should pack." He put the sonnets to the side.

"Will I be able to see you on the morrow before you set off?"

"I suspect not. I'm to leave before first light."

When Henry did not immediately answer Victor looked back up at him. Though it may have just been the light from the oil lamps on the tables nearby, he thought his eyes looked misty. He opened his mouth to say something else, somehow offer some comfort for the both of them, but Henry draped his arms around Victor before he could.

He wrapped his arms around him at once, pressing his face against his shoulder. They sat as such for nearly a minute in silence, both sets of hands warming the other's back.

Henry mumbled into his shoulder, "I'll be sure to wake up before first light, then."

At last, Victor was the one to pull away, though he left his hand resting on Henry's forearm. "I'll write."

Henry squeezed Victor's hand. "So will I."


End file.
